Chapter Seven
Alastair had been married for ten years, but he had never loved his wife and she had never loved him. He assumed that was the way relationships worked. Two people were ordered to marry by their parents and they did so. It was a duty, a job they had to do. Love had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Alastair had never loved anyone before. He had his wife, of course, and various flings throughout his youth, including the stable master’s daughter, a stunning prostitute who lived in the finest brothel in the city of Varlyn and a giggling lady in waiting. He had played with them, had his way with them, grew bored with them and then tossed them aside.
There had always been an air of “why not” with these women. They were all beautiful, willing and easy. He never had to try with them. He never had to work at pleasing them or give a second thought to treating them well. They were enchanted with his position in their society. They weren’t with Alastair Thorne—they were with the Crown Prince.
Avery was different. It wasn’t just that he wanted her in his bed, though he certainly did. He wanted all of her. Wherever he was, he wanted her there with him. He wanted to be able to open his eyes and see her before him. He never wanted to be separated from her.
She slept in his bed at night. Once, Sir Reese asked about rooms for Ms. Avery as he referred to her, but Alastair brushed him aside. She did not need her own rooms. She lived with him in his room. At night, he would crawl into bed with her, she would turn to her side and he would put his arm around her. The heat from her body and the fire would warm his cold skin until they were the same temperature.
She never denied him. If he woke in the middle of the night and kissed her, she would open her eyes and kiss him back. Morning, noon, night, she was always eager and ready for him. He put his hands all over her body and not only did she let him—but she liked it. She leaned into his touch, clinging to him.
He had a dressmaker come and lay out fine fabrics all over the room. He watched as she moved from one to the other, her mouth hanging open in amazement. There were fabrics of bright yellow, pale green, fabrics with small birds and delicate flowers stitched perfectly into them.
“Pick out any that you like,” Alastair said.
“I like them all,” she said, turning around to face him with a smile. She picked up a bolt of deep blue fabric and held it against her body.
“Then I shall buy them all,” he answered.
“You cannot,” she said. “It’s too expensive, too fine.”
He came to her, putting his arms around her and pulling her back to him. He loved nothing more than reducing the distance between them. He could feel her blood, he could smell it. He nuzzled her neck, careful to not bother the two pinprick bite marks there. He was getting better at feeding from her. He no longer lost control. Now that he knew he could have her whenever he wanted, it was easier for him to stop.
“Do you not know who I am?” he demanded in mock outrage. “I am Alastair Thorne, Crown Prince of Varlyn. These garments are nothing to me.” He commanded the dressmaker to make Avery an entire wardrobe of new clothes. Her old caravan rags were burned.
“Never again,” he whispered to her. She stood naked in front of him, her clothes a pile on the ground. “You will always wear fine clothes, I promise you,” he said.
They fell into bed together, making love on the fine bolts of fabric. Wrapping their naked bodies in the finest cloth the Kingdom had.
Avery’s nomadic life had put her in contact with many different cultures. She spoke five languages and could read three. She knew the lay of the land, the merchants and the rulers. He talked to her about everything—his worry over the Fire Islands, his plan to destroy the Mages living in The Sands and the weight of the expectations of his father and his people.
Avery did not judge him. She listened and held his head in her lap. She told him that he was a great Lord and he would go on to do great things. He could be himself around her. He didn’t need to preen or pretend. He never had to put on airs. He had never felt so relaxed and free in his entire life.
He had almost forgotten the date. It was the seventeenth of the month, the one night that he and Myrcel must spend together. In the last few weeks, he had almost forgotten he had a wife. He had been free of her annoyed expression and her disgust with him. There had been no functions where they were forced to pretend to be a happy couple. It had, in fact, been over nine days since he had last seen her.
“I will be...away tonight,” he said to Avery. She was lying naked in bed, a blanket wrapped up around her. He traced a hand down her shoulder and her chest. “But you must know how hard it is for me to leave you.”
“Then why must you?” she asked. Her grey eyes shined up at him and he could not stop himself from sitting down on the bed and pulling her close. She raked her hand across his chest and he moaned quietly.
“I love it when you do that,” he whispered, his mouth pressed against her forehead.
“If you did not have to leave I could do it all night,” Avery teased.
“Do not tempt me. I must go and do my duty,” he said.
“What duty?” she asked, pulling away from him and looking up into his face. Her eyes were wide and her expression so innocent. He didn’t want to tell her where he was going or what he had to do. She would be threatened by Myrcel and she had no need to be. Myrcel was nothing to him, she was nothing compared to Avery.
He opened his mouth and closed it and then took a deep breath before speaking slowly. “She is my wife and I must go to her as a husband goes to his wife.”
Avery’s face went pale, she pulled away. He missed her touch the moment it was gone. She looked down at the floor. It felt like his heart was being torn from his chest. This was what made Avery different. He never wanted to see her in pain. The sight of tears brimming in Avery’s eyes made him question this one thing he knew he had to do to maintain his position.
“Avery, it is a job, nothing more,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder, but she did not lean into him as she normally would have. Her body remained stiff under his touch, like a statue.
“I understand. I should never have expected anything different,” she said, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her tears. “I know I’m not your wife. I’m...nothing-”
“Don’t say that,” Alastair said, his voice stern. He took her chin in his hand and turned her until she looked into his eyes. “You are not nothing. You are everything to me. You are the only woman I want in my bed, but I am not a normal man. I am the Crown Prince and I have obligations that cannot be ignored.”
She nodded. He wished she would have yelled and screamed at him. He wished she would have stormed off and slammed the door behind her. But instead, she looked up at him sadly and nodded as a tear tracked down her cheek.
He left her in his bed. His steps were heavy as he walked the distance to Myrcel’s rooms. Every footstep was torture, his legs felt like they were tied to rocks. It seemed to take forever for him to traverse the long hallway.
He had never taken any joy in this. Now he hated it. He hated being pulled away from Avery, he hated that he could not spend the night with her. He hated Myrcel. At the door to her chamber, he placed his hand on the painted wood and waited for one moment. It was not too late. He could still turn around and go back to the beautiful woman who wanted him.
But he knew he could never do such a thing. He was the Crown Prince and Myrcel was his wife. If she felt she was being mistreated, she would call her father and the chaos and danger of the Fire Islands would only grow. He did not like it, but he knew he must do it.
Pushing open the door, he saw his wife waiting for him. She sighed heavily and crossed her arms as the door closed behind him.